is god here, captain? any god?

The first few days after, he relied on her, in ways he is not proud of. Her blood-soaked appearence sent a spike of fear through his heart. Stanley's immolation deadened what fear he felt, and each night— what a laughable concept, now, to call this handful of hours night just because it is the time he choses to sleep— he gets lost in a spiral of darkness of the soul. He has been scooped out, hollowed. He sometimes wishes he'd die in his sleep, because it would be so much easier than waking up and facing it over and over again.

She was the only distraction. He still didn't feel on those first few nights. But he recognized her, saw her face and knew her, when all the men around him because blurs. They had to be blurs, or he'd feel the monumental weight of how many were gone. But seeing her was a balm.

Touching her, holding her still, looking at her mouth, her poor tongue, making sure it didn't worsen day by day. It kept him feeling real. All steps he could take without the threat of numbness and despair overwhelming him. He saw her shape approach, saw her sleep in her furs, and he felt less like a gibbering maniac, and more like a sad, hopeless man.

It is terribly selfish. It is, somehow, an improvement. These things both make him feel pathetic and useless.

It takes them both those two weeks, and the improving light, to come back to being human.

He knows she's feeling the least bit better because she is, one morning he goes to check on her, simply not there. Part of him knows she should leave if she can, and part of him fears she cannot, and part of him longs for her company. Altogether he doesn't trust his own judgement on the matter.

Still, he needs to check. So he asks around, and eventually some blurred shape tells him she went out to the ice, and she's still out there.

He gets into some slops and goes out, and finds this is true. She's sitting in her great fur coat, a hundred feet out. Why so far? His mind automatically goes through the words for arm, leg, hand, foot, head. It is a jolt; he feels like he hasn't had thoughts in an eternity.

As he gets closer he notices slight movement. She's sitting on her knees, mittened hands in her lap. Rocking, gently, back and forth. He comes up behind her and greets her gently. He's always worried that he is intruding. Always he feels this way, can't seem to shake it.

She looks up. She doesn't smile, but he feels like he knows her expression. Recognition. Seeing his face, when everything around is a blur.

"Cold?" He asks.

She shakes her head, the tiniest hint. No. Her expression is tight. He remembers a word. Hopes he understands how to use it.

"A'nirnaqpa?" He asks.

She takes a beat, then she nods. The smallest movement, not pausing her back and forth. Distracting from the pain, he thinks. He has nothing else for her; she accepted laudanum once or twice, but not during the day, when she wants to be awake. He thinks about leaving. He doesn't want to disturb her.

It must be written on his face, because as he's turned slightly away, she's reached out and taken his sleeve. When he turns back she's looking at him, eyes open, head slightly to one side.

"I can stay?"

She nods again. And does it more dramatically, for his benefit. Tears prickle at her eyes. Dangerous. She pulls her hood closer. But she doesn't let go of his sleeve.

"Okay. I'll stay."

She gets off her knees and settles onto crossed legs. He does the same, sitting next to her. Leaning in to her furs. She leans back in to him. After a beat she starts her rocking. Much more gently, to not disturb him.

He'll have to get up soon. The ice is already starting to steal the warmth through his trousers. The cotton does so little. He wriggles. Thinks about how he should apologize.

Without warning she's wrapping an arm around him and tugging him. Up, over. Until he's on her lap. The fur is warmer than the ice.

"O-oh. Oh." She realized what his problem was right away. He blushes. Imagines the dirty poems he knows. Blushes more.

But then she's rocking again, arms around him like he's a huge plush toy. Now she is humming, too. The quietest hum, he can barely hear it, barely feel it, but it's there. It's like her voice is warming him.